The Changeling Child
by Eilean Donan
Summary: Re-telling of Rumpelstiltskin. In progressing with this story, I've tried to deal with the plot holes the original faery tale has, such as why the faery agrees to spin straw for some random girl, and why he wants her child....please R&R :
1. Chapter 1

Just shy of midday, the sound of several horses entering the cobbled courtyard drifted up to Sanna's chambers where she lay languidly in the summer heat, a gentle breeze stirring the fine gauze drapes around her bed. She knew who it was without getting up to see – her brothers, returned ahead of the main army from the war in the North. Eager for the news they doubtless brought of their victory, she rose and hurried down to the great hall, where her father and her sisters were already assembled. She waited patiently with them as her two brothers entered, and her interest grew when she saw what they dragged between them. A man, ragged and half naked hung limply from her brother's strong arms, his red curls hanging down his back in a tangled mess. They flung him to his knees before the king their father, and stood back proudly for his praise.

"What's this ?" the king spoke softly, though his tone was of iron, cold and hard. Alexios, the older brother, stepped forward and bowed.

"Oberon's Captain," he said. Sanna gasped. Oberon was the King of Carne, the enemy in the North. If they had captured his Captain……

"And what news of Oberon ?" demanded the king. Alexios shrugged.

"He still lives, though we've forced him to go to ground. It won't be long now before he surrenders, I'll warrant." He looked very pleased with himself, and aimed a kick at the Captain. The king irritably waved him back and away from the prisoner.

"Assuming he puts much value on his captain's life, not long at all," he agreed, with a stern look at his sons. "What is this man's name ?"

"Since we don't care, we didn't ask," sneered Alexios. He glared at the prisoner. "What's your name, _dog_ ?"

The red-haired prisoner made no reply, and kept his head bowed low. He left arm hung at an awkward angle and Sanna realised it must be broken. The livid bruises made her wince.

The king rose, and descended the dais to stand before the prisoner. He bent, and grasped the man's chin in his hands, forcing his head back. His lip curled.

"This is a mere boy !" he exclaimed, "do you think I am a fool ? _This_ is not Oberon's captain ! Worthless wastrels, how dare you think to deceive me ?" He glared round at his sons, who faltered and took a step back, unsure of what to say. They had certainly not meant to deceive the king.

"We are sure this _is_ Oberon's captain, father," Alexios protested, "he looks young, yes, but do not all the folk of Carne look younger than they should ?"

"This is not he," snapped the king. "or do I look less intelligent than I should ? This can be nothing more than a foot-soldier, or a spy. Execute him !"

The prisoner's head snapped back up at that, and a hiss of breath escaped his lips, swollen and bruised from the beatings his captors had dished out. Sanna stared, and two ice-green eyes locked onto hers in desperation as her two brothers grabbed his arms and dragged him up, ready to cart him out to the courtyard for what would be a violent lynching. She found herself rushing forwards, her hands clutching at her father's sleeves. He tried to shake her off, irritably, but she clung on, her voice frantic in her ears.

"What if they're right ? What if he _is_ Oberon's Captain ? He could be valuable, don't, _don't_…"

"Are you saying we should keep him _alive_ ?" demanded Alexios, rounding on her with his black eyes flashing. She quailed, ever afraid of his temper. She nodded, struck mute by the anger in his expression. Her father looked down at her, amused.

"Far be it from me to refuse my youngest daughter," he smiled unpleasantly, "Therefore, my dear, I will indulge you. You may keep him."

She stared up at him, uncomprehending.

"K-keep him ?"

He chuckled. "A slave from Carne, how exotic, wouldn't you say ? Perhaps you might even teach him manners and civilisation."

She stared at the prisoner, who stared back, shocked. He landed at her feet as her brothers flung him from them. He struggled to rise, standing awkwardly on one leg while the other threatened to buckle beneath him. Through the layers of grime and blood his face creased in pain, and she wondered what on earth she was supposed to do with him.


	2. Chapter 2

"He _must_ have a name, mistress," Tuala, the bath-mistress, said as she scrubbed the prisoner from head to toe in the baths. Sanna was overseeing, though more out of curiosity about her new slave than any desire to observe duty. Besides, she knew what Tuala was like and knew also that men didn't always visit the baths just for a wash.

_Saucy little slut_, she thought, trying not to let her annoyance show on her face. Frowning caused wrinkles, unbecoming for a Princess of Isken.

Aloud, she said, "I daresay he has. I just don't know it." A maid approached with an armful of white linen towels, and Tuala straightened and took one, shaking it out for the prisoner. "Out," she ordered, and he rose, still awkward on his damaged leg, and snatched the towel from her. He proceeded to dry his hair with it, unashamed of his nakedness. Sanna blushed. In her country, nudity wasn't an issue, and games were conducted unclothed, and men and women bathed together, but it was an unconcerned, nonchalant kind of nudity, not this blatant display. He seemed to feel her embarrassment, and turned to stare at her, his ice-green eyes amused. She folded her arms and glared back, refusing to order him to cover up, since she knew that was what he was aiming for – for her to admit that his nakedness bothered her. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the filigree ironwork in the windows and turned his smooth skin a beautiful golden ivory and his hair to bright fire, and she remembered what he was. Slave or not, he was _nothing_ like her…..

She turned on her heel with an order to the two guards to bring him to her chambers as soon as he was clothed, and stalked out.

The summer blazed on, and the prisoner seemed to settle in and accept his new station in life as Sanna's slave. His wounds healed quickly and well. He refused to talk about his homeland, and answered only a few basic questions about himself. His interest in Sanna was non-existent, though he paid a great deal of attention when she answered his questions about the castle and its surrounding area. She told him what he wanted to know, reasoning that an attempt to escape would get him nowhere but the gallows.

Her puzzlement about what to do with him disappeared when her father donated a small walled garden for her personal use. If she wanted it. She did. One look at it told her that it would take a lot of work, tangled about with wild roses and ivy as it was, and she set her slave to the task immediately. He didn't object.

"I want a formal garden," she told him, "white brick paths, and a jasmine bower, and plenty of lavender. A fountain with golden fish in. And the walls covered in blue dragon-darts and white ladylace."

He bowed, flexing his recently healed arm, testing the muscles with curved smoothly under his skin. "Anything else ?"

"Golden wound-wort and speckled heartsease," she said, "and tall white lilies and purple thyme. Red cockle flower and black arum."

"A garden of delights, indeed," he smiled briefly, the warmth not touching his ice-green eyes. He set to work at once, clearing the undergrowth and burning the thorns, filling the sultry mornings with smoke that made her eyes water as she watched him work. His skin turned from a pale ivory to a deep gold in the sun and his icy eyes seemed even colder in the warmth of his face. The garden rapidly took shape under his long fingers, the new plants sprouting in abundance wherever he set them.

"This is work you've done before," she remarked, bending to sniff a pale pink tea rose. She was beginning to doubt that he was Oberon's captain, much as her father had done. Besides, there had been no word from Oberon, no reply to the ransom note they'd sent.

"I have done many things," he replied with a shrug. He gazed at her, his eyes unreadable. She would have given a lot to know what he saw when he looked at her.

"I like it," she said, a little shyly. His eyes bored into her. She looked away, wondering if she should reprimand him. Slaves did not stare so insolently at a princess.

Returning to her chambers, she found her brother waiting for her with a summons from their father. He didn't look too happy, and it wasn't long before she found out why.

"I have finalised the arrangements for your marriage," said the king, motioning her to a cushioned chair beside him. "Sooner than I'd thought to. The Prince will be embarking on his journey here within the week, and the wedding will be held here in Isken. Are you pleased ?"

"Yes, father," she said meekly, though she was not. Prince Teku was a cruel man, though handsome, and greedy too. She wondered what dowry had been offered for her.

"Not as much as we expected," said her father, "in fact, he didn't even try to haggle. He's taking you with a very modest dowry indeed. Perhaps he has heard of your beauty, my dear child." He smiled, but it wasn't the fond smile of a parent, rather, the satisfied smile of a business man who has gotten a far better deal than ever he thought to.

Sanna bowed her head.

"How long until he arrives here, father ?" she asked, dreading the day.

"If the winds from Mortua be fair, a month – a week by land, and three by sea. You have ample time to prepare your trousseau." He dismissed her then, and she all but ran back to her chambers, shaking.

Her slave had come in, and his eyes registered sympathy. She realised then that she was crying, and dashed the tears from her eyes, hating that he'd seen.

"It's not your beauty he's heard of," he said gently, and she wondered how he knew. Not that it mattered.

"What, then ?" she asked.

"He has heard a rumour that you are able to spin straw into gold." He pulled his loose white shirt over his head, shaking it down around his lean hips, and sat down. She gaped at him, uncomprehending.

"Spin…straw…?"

"Yes."

"But that's impossible ! No-one can do that ! Why…who would tell him that ?"

"A whisper borne on the four winds may never be traced back to the one who originally spoke the lie," he said, "but it is too late for that. Prince Teku believes many things that you think are impossible, and in some cases, you would be wrong, and he right."

"But…straw into gold ? No-one can do that ! _No-one_ !"

"I can."

Her eyes flashed black fire at him. She'd had enough.

"If it were _you_ marrying him, then that would be fine !" she snapped, "But it's not, it's _me_ ! And when he finds out I can't spin straw into gold, what will happen to _me _?" She dissolved into tears, convinced her fate would be met on the end of a sword. He didn't move from his seat, but turned to stare out of the window. This one looked out over the vineyards, and his expression grew wistful.

"Take me with you," he said, seeing a chance at his freedom, "you'll be able to choose a household retinue – include me in it."


	3. Chapter 3

Six weeks later, Sanna found herself on a ship bound for Mortua. She hated it. She was sick down below in her luxurious but tiny cabin, and frozen on deck, for cold winds blew over the sea, so different from the hot winds that blew over her homeland. Her slave seemed to enjoy it, though, laughter in his eyes that were too like the sea, his long red plait whipping about his shoulders like a lash. The sun sparkled on the drops of salt water in his hair, turning him into a creature of strange beauty. He stood on deck, wearing nothing but diamonds of sea-spray and his loose white trousers, tied low on his hips with a plait of blue leather. She herself felt unkempt and pathetic, and disturbed by him.

He came to stand next to her at the rail as she leaned over it, watching a school of dolphins frolicking in the spray the ship's prow threw up.

"One push, and he's overboard," he said softly in her ear. She whipped her head round in shock.

"Imbecile !" she hissed, "how long do you think it would be before everyone on this ship pulled him back ? And then you would die, and then they would find out I cannot spin gold !"

He shrugged. "It was just a thought."

"And very tempting," she sighed. Teku's death would liberate them both. The slave chuckled, an unfamiliar sound coming from him.

"Spinning straw, gardening, commanding an army……there are _many_ things I can do, princess."

She looked up at him. He stood taller then she by several inches, and his eyes sparkled with a strange green light in his sun-kissed face. She realised suddenly that his was a handsome face, though his eyes were too large and his nose too thin for true beauty in her lands.

"You couldn't save yourself from capture and slavery," she reminded him. He bowed, reminded of his place.

"I can't change my own fate. I am not a God."

"No. You're not." Her voice was sharp.

He turned away from her and left her to herself at the rail. But he was back in a heartbeat, with a thick silk shawl which he wrapped round her shoulders. His hands lingered on her shoulders and she felt the warmth seep through the silk and under her skin, warming her frozen bones.

"Is that one of the things you can do ?" she murmured dreamily as his heat tingled in her blood. He leaned in closer, his lips pressed against her ear.

"One of many things, princess," he whispered, and his voice was like lightning in her brain.

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Sanna woke the next morning to find the ship had docked and their luggage was being unloaded on the quay. Her slave was overseeing her personal belongings, directing each ornately carved chest onto a secure cart behind what she assumed was her carriage, enamelled with blossoms and exotic Mortuan songbirds. The sun shone as bright as it did in Isken, but there was a subtler quality to the heat, and as they travelled further inland, Sanna began to enjoy herself. The caravan wound through grasslands where the wind blew constantly, bending the blue grasses almost flat and whipping her hair around her face. She rode more often than she travelled in her carriage, and her slave envied her freedom, shackled as he was to the footman's seat beside the driver. On the fourth day out of port she let him ride, a slow mare, in case he broke and ran. He did not.

"What's your country like ?" she asked him. She had asked him before, but he'd refused to answer, and months had passed since then. "Tell me about Carne."

"Why ? You will never go there," he said as he trotted beside her, his voice teasing. From his carriage, the Prince frowned at his new wife conversing with a slave, and resolved to have the man's tongue cut out if he said so much as a word wrong.

Sanna whirled her horse round to face back the way they'd come, the grass stretching for miles in all directions.

"You could get lost out here," she mused, "once we pass by there'll be nothing but the eagles and the small birds."

"And the snakes," he said, holding one up. Somehow, he'd dismounted and snatched the long yellow serpent from the rocks where it had been sunbathing, without her even seeing him do it. She shuddered. The Prince growled, and issued an order to his guard. They broke from the carriage and trotted over to the princess and her slave.

"That kind are poisonous," one said.

"Give it to me, I'll destroy it," said the other, and held his hand out. The slave shrugged, and handed the reptile over. A flash of steel, and its fate was met. The guard dropped the corpse and its head back into the grass with a grimace, and stabbed his knife into the dirt to clean it. The slave swung back into his saddle, and glanced over at the prince. He looked away again, realising that he would meet with death if he wasn't careful. He kept away from Sanna for the rest of the journey, ignoring the loneliness in her eyes when she looked at him. Emotion was not something he could afford.


	4. Chapter 4

Teku's palace was built at the top of an escarpment, with the city below sprawling out across the plain. It was built from golden stone and faced in elaborate designs with white marble, and was reached by a wide white gravel road that wound up the hillside. The city boasted many plazas with elaborate fountains, and verdant gardens rich with fruit, and large, brightly coloured flowers. The narcotic scent of purple jasmine hung heavy in the evening air, and Sanna fantasised about a long hot bath scented with the oil of the flower as she rode up to the palace. Her slave rode behind her, his head down, though his eyes flickered this way and that as they went onwards.

The inside of the palace was even more ornate than its exterior. The floors were of pale honeywood and the walls were plastered white with elaborate borders painted in a myriad of colours. Sanna's home in Isken had been of cold stone, a necessity in the blazing heat of that country. Her rooms here had tall windows that began at the floor and ended at the ceiling, and were shuttered in the same pale wood of the floors. Heavy drapes served to block the ferocious winds that came whistling over the plains, though by day it was welcome. Her carpet was of ivory with a tracery of pale gold roses, and her couch was of sky-blue silk. Amidst all the opulence, her slave stood, head still bowed, as her travel chests were brought in, and then waited patiently for her orders regarding them.

"I want everything unpacked, pressed, hung, scented - _everything_," she said, her voice betraying her nervousness. "Make a thorough job of it."

He set to, working slowly, understanding her need to keep him by her side for as long as possible.

"He'll not call for you tonight," he said as he worked, "At least, not to his bed. That's not what he wants you for."

She walked over to him, as casually as possible. "Don't talk to me," she whispered as she passed him, with a glance at the walls. He nodded, realisation dawning on his face. She made a circuit of the room, pretending to examine and admire the delicate detailing in the murals.

"Here," said her slave quietly, standing by one of the panels. He held a long pin in his hand, one of her elaborate hat pins. It was tipped in blood. She swallowed hard.

"Thank you," she whispered. He shrugged.

"_Now_ I can talk to you," he said.

Sanna looked over at her maid, who sat near the door as chaperone, and grinned. The maid grinned back, opened the door, and checked the corridor for lurkers. There were none, and Sanna and her slave retreated to the window balcony to talk.

"It will not be long before that spy's reported missing," she said.

"It will not," he agreed.

"Well, what do you propose to do about it ?"

He smiled, grimly.

"As I said, princess, I can do many things." He produced a small bag of powder from underneath his belt. "Black arum," he smiled. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Black arum ? From my garden ?"

"The very same. It has certain qualities I thought would be useful."

"It's _poisonous_," she said. Her heart pounded erratically, though whether from fear or excitement, she didn't know.

"Yes," he replied, with a wicked glint in his eyes. She knew it would be useless to ask him whom he intended to poison, or how.

"You know too much about plants. Why haven't you poisoned _me_ ?"

"I don't want to, princess."

She sank down into the vivid blue silk of the couch and leaned her chin in her hands. He hovered by the window, unsure of what to do with himself. She didn't invite him to sit, so he folded his hands in front of him and stood straight and rigid. His expression was stone, his eyes blank. The Prince entered, with two guards, and beckoned to Sanna.

"Come with me."

She looked alarmed, and rose, remembering to curtsey. Her slave and her maid followed but were quickly rebuffed.

"_They_ stay here," said Teku brusquely, and grabbed her arm. He marched her down the corridor, and then down another one, and another, until she was thoroughly lost. The painted plaster and fine honeywood flooring gave way to cold bare stone and she guessed, from the lack of windows, that they were in the heart of the palace. Teku finally stopped, outside a heavy wooden door, and turned to her.

"Do you know what is in here ?" he asked. She shook her head. He smiled, a slow, cold smile, and opened the door. The last rays of the evening sun filtered in through a small window high up in the wall, barely lighting the room. She could see, however, clearly enough. There was nothing in the room but a stool, and a spinning wheel, and straw. Bales of it. Her heart faltered and she felt weak, a cold sweat breaking out on her brow. She struggled to breathe as he pushed her in and produced the key from his belt.

"This straw – _all_ of it – must be spun into gold by morning," he said, "or you will die, for I will have no further use for you. Goodnight, _my dear_."

She sat alone in the poorly-lit room, the sun rapidly fading and long shadows flickering across the floor from the light of the torch he'd left her. She struggled to keep the rising hysteria at bay, but with little success, and almost shrieked out loud when the blackness enveloped her and her head hit the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

She woke, her limbs stiff and her head aching, and sat up. And stared. In place of the straw, there were hundreds of skeins of glittering yellow gold. A few threads still hung from the wheel and she plucked them off, twirling them between thumb and forefinger in wonder. The Prince entered, his guards in tow, and a look of surprised pleasure crossed his face.

"My dear," he beamed, eyeing the golden skeins greedily, "you have done well ! Very well. You shall have a gown woven from these threads, and gold lace for your veil ! Come, it is time for you to rest." He took her hand and she followed, unresisting, back up the endless, winding corridors to her own chambers. She waited until he'd gone, then looked round for her slave. He stepped out of a door in the panelling that she hadn't known was there. Once it was closed again, she couldn't see the join. She wondered how _he'd_ known.

"Where were you last night ?" she demanded.

He stepped up close to her and bent his head, his lips against her ear. His breath was cool.

"Spinning," he said. He stepped away again. She turned as he circuited the room, pausing by the panel that had hid the spy.

"It really was you ? Can you do it again tonight ? For I'm certain I will be expected to turn straw into gold once again," she said bitterly. He smiled.

"I can do it tonight, and every night I am required to – but there is a price, princess."

"A price ?"

"Yes."

"You are a slave. I do not have to pay you," she said indignantly.

"Oh, I think, in this case, princess, you do – if you want to live."

She stared at him helplessly, tears welling in her eyes. He stared back, coldly. He had seen that look too often on her, and he hated it. But he needed the payment he would ask for.

"What do you wish of me ?" she whispered, surrendering. There was little scope for her to do otherwise.

"I will tell you, when you are able to give me what I want. Do you promise to give me what I ask for ?"

"I promise," she said, after a moment's hesitation. He knew all of what she had. What could possible be more precious to her than her own life ?

He picked up the tray of saffron cakes and spiced rose tea that had been brought for her, and laid it in her lap.

"Eat," he said, "then rest. The prince will want you later."

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When Teku came for her in the morning, she could barely look at him, though he was pleased once more with the gold. Too pleased. He marched her to his own chambers, and she was escorted back from there a little while later, sore, and hating him.

"You won't have to do that again," said her slave, once the guards had gone, "there will be no need."

"Why ?"

"Because you will have what he wants. A child."

"A _child _?"

"Yes."

He strode over to her and caught her as she swayed on her feet, and gently lowered her to her couch. He didn't let go of her, but sank to his knees before her, his hands on her hips. The warmth of his fingers burned through the light silk gown she wore, and his touch awoke a need in her.

He rose, and brought her a goblet of crystal filled with blood-red wine. She drank, and felt her limbs grow heavy and her eyelids droop.

"Black arum ?" she asked, her vision blurring. She didn't care how much he'd used.

"And heartsease," he said gently, and laid her back on the couch. She slept, her dreams full of golden skeins and pale elfin children.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **_Special thanks to Take Your Bow for all the reviews ! But what about the rest of you ?? _

_I'm soon going to make a radical departure from the faery tale, but I think I can do a happy ending......._

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In time, Sanna's baby was born, a girl, with pale Mortuan skin and a shock of black hair like her own. Prince Teku was pleased; he had many sons, but no daughters with which to make great alliances with.

"You may rest this night," he said, feeling generous, "I have much gold; one night will not matter."

When he left, she wept, clutching her baby to her breast. Her slave approached.

"Give me the child now, princess," he said. His voice was gentle, but there was steel in his green eyes.

And she didn't want to give up her daughter, the only thing that would love her in this foreign place. She had not known he would ask for _this_.

"I won't," she said, " I _won't _! And if you try and take her, I will call for the guards !"

"You made a _promise_ !" he thundered, and she flinched. The child at her breast began to cry. She wrapped her arms around her daughter and shrank back away from the man as he approached, his arms outstretched to take the baby from her.

"No !" she wailed, panic rising in her chest, "no, no, please, there must be something else I can give, _please_…" tears ran down her face, large fat drops of despair.

He stopped. His arms dropped to his side, and he glared at her.

"You false, fickle woman," he snarled, his eyes full of anger, "but so be it. I will not take your child – yet. If you can guess my name, you can keep my child."

"She is not yours !" she protested, "she is the prince's. She's _mine_ !"

He barked a laugh.

"She is _all_ mine," he sneered, "You promised. Now, my name, princess. Guess it, and you keep her."

"How can I possibly guess your name, just like that ?" she sobbed, "there are so many, many names, I ….."

"You have three nights, until the full moon. You get three guesses each night. Guess wisely, princess, because I _will_ take that girl if you don't guess right."

"And you would not get even so far as the city gates with her," she shot back, "my husband is the _prince_."

"Who will have you killed as soon as I am gone," he said, "for which I will be truly sorry, but I have no choice."

"Please don't take her," she whispered.

He shook his head. "I won't take her from you, if you guess my name."

"Parrick ?" she picked a common name in Carne. He shook his head, his eyes sparkling. She swallowed heavily and drew a deep breath.

"Tam ?"

"One more guess this night, princess."

"Is it….Mannan ?"

"No, no, thrice no," he chuckled, eyeing the child. "That leaves you six guesses."

"Have mercy !" she gasped, but he looked away, not wanting to see her pain. The next night was the same; just before he started spinning, he asked for her three guesses. All three were wrong, and she sank into despair, unable to sleep while he span, gold flying from his fingers where there had once been straw.

"How do you do that ?" she asked suddenly, and the wheel ground to a halt.

"Most of my kind can do something of the sort," he said, surprised, "whether it be learning the language of birds, or travelling on the ancient high roads, or shifting our shape, or spinning straw into gold, each of us can do something. I thought you knew that."

"I did, but that isn't what I meant," she said, "I want to know how you do it. So you can teach me."

"_Teach_ you ?"

"Yes – when you're gone, and my child too, I will still be required to spin." Her voice broke into a sob, and his reached out to catch the first tear with his thumb, gently brushing the side of her face.

"It's not something you can learn," he said softly, "it's a natural gift, you can't teach it, can't be taught how to do it."

The tears were flowing freely now, and he rose from his stool and came to kneel in front of her. He took her hands in his.

"I asked for your child, princess," he said, "But that doesn't mean I intend to leave you here to face that bastard's wrath. Come with me."

She stared at him, then berated him for not saying so before if he intended to take her too, scolded him thoroughly for making her play silly guessing games and causing her so much grief.

"Oh, but I hold to that," he said sternly, "you _must_ guess my name – you cannot enter Carne without it !"

"Is that why you made me guess ? So I can come with you ?"

"Yes."

"But why not just tell me your name ?" she was bewildered, confused. He wasn't making it easy.

"Firstly, you had to be wiling to give up the child. Secondly, no-one can cross into Carne if they don't have the name of their guide. I can't just _tell_ you."

"I don't see why not."

"Rules are rules, princess," he said vaguely, and went back to his spinning. By morning she was exhausted from having spent the entire night trying to think what his name might be, and couldn't think of a single one that would fit him. She only had three guesses left, and she was on edge with the worry. He would leave her behind with the prince, if she didn't guess, and take her baby. Not that she'd have long to suffer without her daughter. She'd be dead.

"Teron," she said.

"No," he replied. She pursed her lips.

"Carahan."

"No !" he scowled.

_One more guess_.

She licked her lips nervously, unsure of what his reaction would be when she gave her next, and last guess. She took a deep breath.

"Páron ?"

Silence. His lips parted, and his eyes flashed sunlight. He dropped to his knees.

"Princess," he whispered, "give me the child."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **_Special thanks to Take Your Bow for all the reviews ! Glad you're enjoying it._

_This one's turning into an epic, and the conclusion is so far over the horizon I think I will make two separate stories, the second of which will cover a different faerytale. I may also be changing the rating on this soon....we'll see._

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**She** remained rooted to the spot, her eyes suddenly wild.

"But…I guessed right," she stammered, "that _is_ your name ! I guessed _right_ !"

"You did. But I still require the child. We will leave after dark tomorrow, but I will take the child from the city first, and come back for you."

"How will I know you will come back ?" her voice was panicked, hysterical.

"Trust me." His voice was calm, and though she fought against it, she believed him.

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She rested as well as she was able all the next day, though her nerves were stretched to snapping point and the fretful whimperings of the baby every time the slave picked her up kept her from entering a deep sleep. She felt haggard and weary when Teku's guards came for her. She was surprised not to see the Prince himself, since he made a habit of escorting her to and from the little spinning room himself.

"He is unwell, mistress," one guard said, and bowed low. She flicked a glance at her slave, but his face betrayed nothing. She wondered how unwell the Prince was.

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**Three** hours after the guards had locked her in, her slave finally came through. She had been wondering if he was false after all, and had abandoned her. He shut the door carefully behind him, then crouched down in the straw beside her. He wore a hooded cloak, and carried one for her, a plain black priest's robe that would hide her form and her face. She put it on with shaking hands.

"You doubted me." It was a simple statement, spoken with gravity. She looked at him, blushing.

"You have no real reason to take me too," she said. He tied the neck cords of the hood for her, his eyes distant.

"You'd rather stay here ?"

"No, but why….?"

"We have to go quickly, princess," he interrupted her. He opened the door, slowly and quietly, then checked the corridor. The Prince never posted guards, being convinced that he had the only key and that she couldn't escape, but it was always wise to be cautious.

Sanna followed him along the cold corridors, not to her chambers, but further out to the back of the castle where a small door just past the kitchens opened out into one of the gardens. He lifted her over the slumped bodies of two guards who lay dead in the path, his earlier work, then took her through the gardens to the palace walls. Here, he removed several stones from the wall, concealed by a profusion of ivy, and pushed her through, following as soon as she was clear.

She stood on the plain, the night wind chill and strong. She felt his strong hands on her shoulders, reassuring her, then he placed her child in her arms. She wept for joy at the sight of the baby sleeping peacefully, then rounded on him.

"Black arum here, too ?" she hissed. He flinched at her tone.

"Don't think me a fool," he snarled, "the smallest amount would kill an infant ! I used _valerian_, princess."

"Stop calling me that," she said, "I have guessed _your_ name, so you can use mine."

He bowed.

"Sanna," he said, and it was as if her name took the form of a small bird, fluttering about his lips and tongue on a light breeze. Her heart beat a little faster, and she turned her attention to her baby. Her slave beckoned her to follow him, setting off across the plain at a fair pace, towards a small copse of withered hawthorns that bent low in the wind. He had mounts concealed there, two sturdy ponies, and they mounted, Sanna still clutching her daughter close. She didn't ask where, or how, he'd gotten the ponies. She realised that she would probably not like the answer.

"How long have we got ?" she asked him as they rode. He turned, his hair streaming in the wind. Somewhere, he'd unbound it from the slave plait, and it hung loose to his waist, making him look even stranger, no longer a man she could command, but a creature of strength and freedom.

"The prince will die today," he said, as she drew alongside him, "I gave him enough black arum to ensure it would take a while, but too much for him to recover. Unless his physicians know something I don't."

"I hope they don't," she said in a small voice. She hated the prince, but murder ? She looked at her slave, and shuddered.

"Páron," she said. He turned back again.

"Yes ?"

"You're no longer my slave. I give you your freedom."

His eyes were unreadable, and she realised that he'd already taken his freedom for granted. He merely bowed, however, acknowledging her offer.

"Thank you, Sanna," he said.

"So how long have we got ?"

"Until they look for us, and discover us gone," he said, "I cannot tell if that will be before the prince dies, or after. Either way, we need to ride fast."

They flew over the grasslands, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the city before the alarm was sounded and the hounds set upon their trail. Páron rode alongside her, taking his turn at carrying Sanna's baby to let Sanna rest. He rode with a long knife in his hand when he wasn't carrying the baby, and she found herself staring at his hands, hands that held her baby so gently, but had killed with a nonchalance that made her shiver.

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**The** sun was reaching its zenith when they reached a river, wide and shallow. Páron drew rein. His ice-green eyes scanned the horizon from whence they'd come, searching for signs of a pursuit. He was confident that the alarm would not have been raised until sun-up, so that the hunters would be several hours behind them.

"Rest," he said, and Sanna slid gratefully off her pony. She took her child from him, and turned away to nurse. After a few moments, she became aware of Páron's eyes on her, and turned to glare at him.

"She is a quiet child," he remarked softly. His lips curved upwards in a smile, and he pulled off his boots and leapt down the low bank into the clear waters of the river. She watched him drink, and splash the water over his head, feeling suddenly thirsty. He filled a skin and took it to her, along with a hunk of good white bread he'd filched from the kitchens, then sat beside her on the bank. A buzzard shrieked overhead, and Páron's head snapped back to look for it. He rose to his feet and followed the bird with his eyes as it swooped and cruised the wind, circling above them three times before flying off to the West. Without a word, he pulled his boots back on and went to gather up the ponies.

"Come," he said, standing by her stirrup. She sighed, and tucked herself away, and allowed him to help her up onto her pony.

"So soon ? That was hardly resting !"

"Long enough," he replied curtly, mounting his own pony. He gathered up the reins in one hand, and leaned over for the baby, cradling her in the crook of his arm as he rode. She gurgled happily at him, and he grinned.

"A little farther, and you can rest," he told Sanna, urging her to keep up with him, "not far now. Can you manage ?"

"I think so," she said, but she could feel the heaviness in her body that spoke of the need to sleep. She wondered, several hours later, how far his idea of "not far" actually was. Certainly it was further than she'd hoped. She struggled to keep her eyes open, and swayed dangerously in her saddle. He noticed, but said nothing, did nothing, and kept up the punishing pace, though he kept glancing at her, his face worried. Just as she was about to demand he stop, or fall from her saddle, he halted, a little ahead of her, and waited for her to catch up.

"Look," he said, pointing across the horizon. She looked, and saw only a grey line on the horizon at first, but then the sun flashed on steel, and she gasped.

"Who is it ?"

"Oberon," he grinned, showing even white teeth in his tanned face.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Páron's name is based on the Swedish name given to the faery in their version of the tale. And in this chapter the plot thickens…….**

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A man on a tall white horse broke from the lines and rode out to meet Páron and Sanna as they approached. Long pale hair hung straight down his back, and a simple circlet of polished jet sat upon his pale, smooth brow. He was dressed in green-enamelled steel, and his surcoat was of grass-green silk embroidered with a golden griffin, the royal heraldry of Carne. Sanna knew who he was as soon as she saw him, though she'd never set eyes on Carne's knig before. He stopped a little way from his main force and waited for Páron and Sanna. His expression was sunny, and a fey light danced in his deep blue eyes as he watched his captain approach and dismount. Still cradling the baby in one arm, Páron helped Sanna down from her horse and then dropped to his knees before his king, his head bowed. Oberon sighed.

"Get _up_, Captain," he said impatiently. He dismounted and pulled Páron to his feet, then embraced him fiercely.

"Is this the child ?" he asked, letting Páron go and staring at Sanna's baby in open curiosity. Páron nodded.

"She is," he confirmed. Sanna gazed up at him, confused.

"What's this ?" she asked, "My Lord ?" she turned to address Oberon, curtseying, not knowing if she was addressing an enemy or a friend. She realised she still wasn't even sure which of those things Páron was. She felt so far from home, and almost too tired to stand. Páron caught her elbow and held her up as she stumbled through the curtsey she gave Oberon.

"Steady," he murmured in her ear, "don't fall. There'll be time to rest soon."

She leaned back against his shoulder, grateful for his strength.

"And this is the mother ?" Oberon said, staring at her in surprise, "really, Captain, my orders were for the child only, I am at war with enough people not to need a kidnapped princess as well as her daughter to add to my enemies' many grievances with me !"

Páron bowed. "My lord," he said, "I _had_ intended to leave her, and just taken the child, but had I done so, she would be dead. He was a far crueller man than we knew. He would have killed her."

"Many _more_ people will die because of this," snapped Oberon, scowling at Sanna, "Teku will know that Carne is behind the disappearance of his wife and daughter, and raise an army against us !"

"He will not," said Páron calmly. Oberon raised a pale eyebrow.

"Really ? And why not ?"

"He's dead."

Oberon was silent for a moment, glaring at his Captain, then turned to the child who had begun to cry. Sanna blushed deep red, and stammered that she was sorry, that her baby was hungry and tired and needed to be fed.

"No time," said Páron softly, taking the baby from her again. Oberon turned to one of his squires, a young man with soft dark curls, and beckoned him forward.

"Take the princess, she's too tired to ride alone," he said, and the squire leaned down and pulled Sanna up behind him in his saddle. She wrapped her arms round his waist, holding on tight. She knew they would ride hard and fast, for it wouldn't be long before the Mortuan hunters caught up with them. Already she could see the faint puff of dust over the horizon that told of many horsemen riding at a gallop through the grasses. Páron rode up beside her and handed her the waterskin; the water almost burned her throat as it went down, so dry and raw was she. The small force Oberon had with him was already moving, churning up dust and flattening the grasses as they reformed and flowed as one across the plains and into the evening sun.

"Ride !" thundered Oberon, already at the head of the Carnish column, "don't let them get the princess ! Ride !"

Sanna could barely recall that first evening's ride, with the Mortuans, commanded by Teku's oldest son, hot in pursuit. The Carnish army was forced to turn at bay just as the sun began to set. In the panic and bustle of soldiers forming up and preparing for a fight, Páron pulled Sanna down from her saddle with an urgency she'd never seen in him before.

"Sanna," he panted, "do you trust me ?"

"Yes," she squeaked, frightened. He pulled her close to him in a fierce embrace, knocking the breath from her, then laid her child in her arms.

"Mortua will want this baby; that is what they have come after us for," he told her, "I need to send her away from here, out of harm's reach ! Tell me you trust me, that you know I won't hurt your child."

"I trust you !" she sobbed, "but why do they want my baby ? What are you going to do ?"

"This," he said, and blew his breath out in a slow silver stream onto the baby. Sanna could do no more than stare, and shake, as her child was transformed, and in her place sat a small, green frog.

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When she came to, she was seated with the young squire a little way from the fighting, in a thicket of tall reeds. They were on the edges of the Marshes, and the fighting had spread too far in a couple of places. She was violently sick, both from the sight of men floundered and drowned in the mud, and from the shock of what Páron had done to her baby. She turned to the young squire, who was reaching out to hold her head for her as she retched, and snarled at him to keep his hands off.

"Where is he ?" she demanded. Her voice came out a low rasp, and she knew she must look a dreadful sight, with her fine black hair tangled and torn and her clothes ragged and filthy with dust. There was blood under her fingernails, and long red welts on her arms, and her lip felt swollen and bruised.

"Here," said Páron's voice, hoarse with thirst and pain. He crouched down in the reeds beside them, his long knife crusted with blood to the hilt. His hair hung ragged in his face, and he pushed it behind his ears impatiently. A long gash traced a wicked line down his cheek, narrowly missing his eye.

She flung herself at him, her hands clawed to rake her nails down his face. He caught her wrists easily, and flung her back with an oath, and the young squire caught her arms and held her fast.

"What did you do to her ?" she yelled at him, "tell me what you _did _!"

"Your daughter's safe," he said, his voice harsh, "I told you to trust me !"

She stared at him, then began to weep, bitterly. She hated him for what he'd done. He sat back on his haunches and regarded her sadly.

"Sanna," he said, "your daughter's safe, in Carne by now. I sent her on with a good – and _trusted_ – friend of mine. She'll be waiting for you when we get there. It was necessary to transform her so that she could be easily carried, and out of sight from anyone looking for her. _Why_ don't you trust me ?"

"I don't _know_ you," she wept. "You're _nothing_ like me, you never make me feel safe, you're dangerous, you're a murderer and a thief and a _liar_….."

"I have never told you one word of a lie," he said, "but I'll accept the other charges, though I've endeavoured to keep you safe. I'm sorry you had to be caught up in this, Sanna."

"In what, exactly ?" she was suddenly suspicious, and narrowed her eyes at him. "What kind of conspiracy _is_ this ?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but the shrill, urgent sound of a horn cut him off. He whirled round to the battlefield, and rose, but she grabbed his arm.

"What is it ?"

"Retreat !" he grinned, "The Mortuans flee the field. On your horse, Sanna, we ride on for Carne !"


	9. Chapter 9

The days across the plains passed in a blur, and the nights were spent shivering in cloaks and blankets, with no shelter from the howling wind. They used the line of tethered horses as a make-shift windbreak, but Sanna still froze every night, and woke in the morning aching and tired, having slept poorly. No fires were lit, for they now feared that Teku's son would be on their trail with a far larger force than the fifty men he'd first ridden out with, and the ground across the Marshes was damp and full of biting creatures that nipped at tender skin and raised it in itchy bumps. Her bad temper grew worse, until they reached a small Carnish port on the northern edge of Mortua which was divided from Carne by a river two miles wide. Páron had taken to avoiding her over the last few days, but now, as they entered the port, he rode up alongside her, and pointed over across the river. Four days' hard riding had rendered him haggard and filthy, and she wrinkled her nose as he came near. He'd scraped his hair back into a plait for the practicality it offered, and he looked nearly as bad as he'd done when she'd first laid eyes on him in Isken. It didn't appear to bother him. He pointed across the river to the far shore.

"Carne," he said. She could see dense forest, and mountains too, their tips lost in the mist that hung low over Carne. She shrugged.

"Damp, and cold," she sniffed. She hadn't had a kind word for him since the battle. His face hardened.

"My country," he snapped, "and yours too, now, unless you'd rather go back to Mortua ?"

She turned her back on him.

"We stop here for the night, and tomorrow we'll ride upriver to the Bridge," he said to her back. She made no answer, though he waited for one, and he sighed and rode ahead, leaving her to ride with the squire he'd assigned to her. She watched him lean over to catch what Oberon was saying, then he looked back at her, and shook his head. She would have liked to have heard what he said to Oberon then, but he was too far away, and the clattering of the horses' shoes on the cobbles drowned out most other sound anyway.

"Princess, come," said her squire, and she kicked her heels to her mount's flanks to catch up with him where he waited outside the inn. He lifted her down and set her on her feet just outside the door, and handed her horse to the ostler who along with his stablehands was suddenly finding his work cut out as the Carnish soldiers dismounted, each with different instructions as to the care of his mount, and each getting in the way. Oberon finally re-emerged from the inn and ordered his men inside in a voice that boomed out over the din they were making, and they instantly became silent and well-ordered.

Inside, the inn was comfortable, though the wing the king and she, along with Páron and another captain occupied was lavish – evidently quarters Oberon had occupied before, since he made himself immediately at home.

"This is the only port Carne has," explained Sanna's squire at her question, "most of the shore is too mountainous – all cliffs and no bays – so we built one here, with Teku's leave. Looks as if we'll be at war with Mortua soon enough now, though." he gave her a look of slight disapproval, and she stared at him, daring him to repeat that insolence.

"It is hardly the princess's fault," said a quiet voice from the doorway, and the squire bowed and retreated hurriedly into the corner, his face burning.

"No, not there; _out_," said Páron, entering the room and pointing sternly through the door to the hallway. The squire left, mumbling an apology to Páron as he passed, and Páron slammed the door behind him.

"Enough of this," he said to Sanna, once they were alone. "sulks and tantrums will avail you nothing, and your bad temper is costing me my sleep. Tell me what I have done to earn your hatred."

"As if turning my daughter into a frog and marching me headlong into a war wasn't enough !" she yelled at him, "perhaps I should add the murder of my husband to that list, and the murders of several others, just because they got in your way !"

"You hated your husband !" he shot back, "and as for the rest, yes, they got in _our _way, or would you have had us stop and fight every guard and soldier we encountered during _our_ escape ?"

She took a step closer to him, her fists clenched. "And what about my daughter ? You swore she would be safe ! How can I trust you in that ? How do I know you're not just using us both for your own ends, and those of my father's enemy, your false, land-grabbing king !"

He slapped her for that, knocking her back. She staggered, and her hand flew to her mouth, his blow stinging. He hadn't hit her hard enough to bruise, but the tears still sprung to her eyes. She sank down on the couch and bowed her head, biting her lip to keep from breaking down. She looked up when he came to kneel at her feet, taking her hands in his.

"Sanna," he began, his voice gentle, "do you know _why_ we're at war with Isken ?"

"Of course," she said indignantly. She'd never taken that much of an interest in politics, but considered it her duty to know at least a little of her country's affairs. "Oberon laid claim to land that wasn't his, and my father has a stronger claim."

"No, he has _no_ claim," said Páron. He leaned forward a little to rest his arms on her thighs. She realised that she had missed him the last few days, though it was her own fault. "Oberon's brother, years ago, ruled that land we know as Derún, until his death at the hands of his wife – your great-grandmother, Sanna. He left a young daughter, but where that girl was, no-one knew, because she was taken to Isken and hidden away, thereby preserving Isken's claim to Derú great- grandmother thn remarried and became Queen of Isken, hence your father's belief, as the grandson of the once-queen of Derún, that he has a claim to Derún. But Derún was taken back into Oberon's rule, as a Carnishman, since it is a Carnish land, and now we are at war over it. Do you understand ?"

"I think my father's right, he _does_ have a claim, the only claim, if no-one knows where the true heir is."

"A very small one, maybe," Páron shrugged.

She leaned back, pulling her hands from his, and ran them through her hair in exasperation.

He got to his feet and stood gazing down at her with his hands in his belt, his eyes thoughtful and distant. She held her breath, wondering if he was about to tell her the identity of Derún's heir after all, but then he abruptly turned away with a puff of breath escaping from his pursed lips.

"If no-one knows where the true heir is, how can you ever win this war ?" she asked


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N/Disclaimer: you might recognise Oberon's palace, if you've read The Hobbit ! I don't own The Hobbit though, and apologies to JRRT for borrowing Thranduil's palace…..**

**I should also apologise to David Eddings, God rest his soul, for the borrowing of another motif, used to great effect in his writings. I don't own the Belgariad either *sigh***

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He would explain no further, and no amount of begging, wheedling, or demanding would induce him to elaborate. She was sure that whatever it was, she was at the heart of it. Her baby was definitely important to their cause, but he would not say why, and she got the same treatment from Oberon when she went running to him instead.

After two days' rest, the company was ready to move into Carne. Sanna watched Oberon cross first, then stepped up herself to go – and found her way barred by an invisible wall. She gasped, and Oberon looked back.

"Captain !" he yelled. Páron came hurrying up to her, his face flushed.

"My apologies !" he said, "Sanna – my name ?"

She stared at him blankly, then remembered what he'd said about crossing into Carne.

"Páron," she answered, and he pulled her onto the bridge.

Although Sanna's first impression of Carne, from across the river, had not been favourable, her opinion changed as they travelled further inland, through the lush oak forests which occasionally gave way to large wildflower meadows and silver streams, and then upwards into the mountains where Oberon's palace was. The air grew cooler as they travelled higher, and Sanna found herself shivering even in the woollen cloak Páron had found for her in port the day before they'd crossed the bridge into Carne. The nights were the worst, though better than they had been on the grasslands, for here they lit fires. She crept ever closer, holding out her hands to the warmth as the mountain winds blew cold through the trees, and Páron flung a thicker cloak round her shoulders with a sudden oath.

"Farther up, there'll be snow," he said, "if you think it's cold now…"

"Snow ?" She'd never seen it.

She saw it two days later, and marvelled at it. It was still summer, so there was only a light dusting of the stuff according to Páron, but she was fascinated by it.

"It gets several feet deep in the winter," he said, grinning as he watched her face. She looked startled.

"Wolves, too," he continued happily, and earned himself a cuff from the king, who beckoned Sanna to ride next to him.

"Take no notice," Oberon smiled warmly, "there _are_ wolves, but they never venture near the palace. We're almost there now – look." He pointed through the trees, and she saw a large clearing with a high wall set with beautifully worked filigree iron gates at the other end. She could see nothing behind that wall, and wondered at that; Oberon told her that his palace was built into the side of the mountain and that only the gardens sat behind the walls.

If she expected the palace to be nothing more than a series of damp and gloomy caves, she was disappointed. Doors of delicately carved wood swung open to admit them, and she found herself standing in the centre of a huge circular cavern. The roof was of beaten gold, and the floor of purest crystal. Though she had been a princess of both Isken and Mortua, she had never seen anything so fine and beautiful. Huge pillars of marble surrounded Oberon's entrance hall, each flanking a doorway that led to other parts of the palace. An in the heart of the mountain was Oberon's throne room, lit by thousands of candles set in cut crystal sconces. The rooms she was shown to were no less lavish, but it was the bed that held the most appeal after days on the road, and she kicked off her shoes and sank down into the soft silken sheets with a grateful sigh.

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She was woken a little while later by a strange rhythmic chirping noise, and sat up, groggy from the little sleep she'd had, her head aching and her eyes blurry. The sound continued, and she looked about the room for it, putting her feet out blindly for the soft slippers she'd seen at the foot of her bed.

She drew her feet back with a shriek of horror and disgust, and yelled again when she saw what it was sitting in her slipper. A young footman came running into the room, his knife drawn.

"What is it princess ?" he demanded, ready to do battle with whatever had frightened her so badly. She pointed to the source of her fear, her hand shaking and her chest wracked with sobs.

"Get it out get it out get it out !" she howled. Disoriented from the lack of sleep, the fear rose in her and all rational thought fled.

"But, my lady…"

"Out ! Out, out _out_ !"

"My lady, I don't…."

"Please, _please_, get it out !" she wailed. He obeyed, looking worried, and picked up the frog in his palm. He hesitated for a moment, then opened his mouth to protest again. She looked at him with a murderous expression on her face.

"Do I have to call my squire ? I will have you executed if you don't obey !" she shouted. She felt faint, and gripped the bed posts to keep from falling. He hurried out, but Oberon soon came in his place, with Páron hot on his heels.

"Sanna, what on earth….?" Páron began, then grabbed her as her knees buckled. She was gibbering in fear, tears streaming down her white face.

Oberon looked amused, however. "Perhaps a frog wasn't the best thing to turn her daughter into, Captain," he chuckled, "she seems to have a rather unreasonable view of them."

"I'm beginning to wish I'd left her behind," growled Páron, still holding her. Oberon raised an eyebrow at the sight of his captain's arms wrapped so protectively around the girl he claimed annoyed him so much. Páron scowled, and set Sanna safely down in a chair.

"This presents a problem, however," said Oberon, turning serious again, "How will she turn her daughter back now ?"


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I actually like frogs ! I don't have any phobias, except maybe tarantulas – wouldn't be able to stand one on me I don't think, so for every time I'm writing "frog", I'm thinking "tarantula" ! Hope it's convincing enough…....*shudders***

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No amount of reasoning and persuasion induced Sanna to allow the little frog anywhere near her, though she was eaten up with guilt and angst over that fact. Páron was on the verge of tearing his hair out, or washing his hands of her altogether, except that Oberon wouldn't let him.

"You brought her; _you_ figure it out," the king growled, his own nerves frayed. His captain, pale and frazzled, ran his hands through his hair for the umpteenth time in frustration, his eyes wild.

"Perhaps a change of scenery would do her good," he said, "Isken, for example !"

"You are _not _sending her home ! _You_ saved her life, now she's _your_ responsibility ! I suggest you think of a solution soon, before my entire court leaves me for quieter pastures !"

"I had no idea she would react like this !" Páron shouted back. "I had no time to think, nor ask her which creature she'd like her daughter turned into ! Besides, I have no control over what forms things take when I shift them; all I could do was make the change and make sure the spell could only be broken by her. Otherwise I would do it myself !" He paused. "You don't think the crown would accept…..?"

"Not likely," sighed Oberon, "and besides, what if it did, but the spell still wasn't broken ? We'd be a laughing stock."

"So, tell her that her daughter is the heir, maybe that will be enough...…"

"No, don't tell her, not yet," cautioned Oberon, "she's in a fragile enough state as it is, I don't want you sending her over the edge with your revelations."

"Because I've done enough damage ?" Páron said bitterly, "I told you, I hadn't planned it this way."

"You haven't done a great deal in the way of _planning_ at all," snapped Oberon. "_Dismissed_, Captain."

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Páron sighed as he paced the endless hallways of Oberon's palace, unable to rest easy. He wondered just how foolish he'd been in taking Sanna from Mortua, but at the same time the thought of leaving her there to face the wrath of her step-sons was too much to bear. Deep down, he knew he'd make the same decision time and again, if he had to, and face the impossibilities his haphazard magic presented him. He finally stormed back to Oberon, his temper lost for the day, perhaps even for good.

"Perhaps _you_ should have made the spell," he snarled at Oberon, startling his king. "You put your trust in me then tell me it's undeserved, you blame me for saving the life of someone I care about, and then…."

"That's the first time you've admitted it," Oberon interrupted. A smile flashed across his face. "Perhaps there's hope for our alliance after all," he added cryptically.

Páron turned red, and his eyes blazed.

"I would have thought that my saving her and her bloody daughter would be admittance enough," he snarled. "As you said, my orders were for the child only. Though we're screwed if we can't change her back."

"We'll have to prepare for that eventuality," said Oberon. "I don't remember anything about this in the Prophecy, but perhaps there's something we missed. I'll have the scholars go over it again. Meanwhile, you can make yourself useful - go and console the princess; she needs you. Try and make her _like_ you, if you can."

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Páron found Sanna curled up in her couch, a book that she wasn't really reading held listlessly in her lap. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her skin had an unhealthy pallor. Páron took the book from her and, placing his hands on her waist, lifted her to her feet. She looked dazed, but made no objection to his man-handling her.

"Walk with me, in the gardens," he said, "some sun would do you good."

"Nothing will do me any good," she whispered miserably. She followed him anyway, apathetically glancing at the flowers and fruits he pointed out, not really seeing them. All she saw was the fiery red hair of the man who had brought her to this misery. She hated him for it, and when he plucked her a ripe red peach from a branch laden with them, she flung it in his face with a curse, following it up with a stinging slap that made his head ring.

"How dare you try and buy my forgiveness with _peaches_ !" she screamed at him, "I hate you ! I wish I had not saved your miserable life in Isken – I should have let my brothers hang you !"

He grabbed her wrists as she swung another slap at him, crushing her hands to her sides. She struggled, but he was far stronger, and he held her fast, pushing her back against a tree.

Neither of them was prepared for what he did next. Without even thinking, he bent his head and kissed her, roughly and angrily. She kicked at his ankles, and he twisted her out of reach, then bent her back over his arm and kissed her again. She went limp in his arms, and he released her, only to receive another slap across his ear. His vision faltered and his eyes ran with tears, and he held out his arm in front of him to ward her off.

"Little cow !" he swore. She had flattened herself against the tree, her breasts heaving and her cheeks bright red. Her eyes flashed with fire – something he considered a good sign, since all he'd seen in them for too long now was misery and apathy. Even if her passion was born of hatred and not love, he still wanted to see it, though he questioned the wisdom of his feelings……..

"I love you," he said suddenly, and held his breath.


	12. Chapter 12

Páron braced himself for another diatribe, or at the very least a slap, but he got neither. The red faded from her cheeks, and she let out a puff of breath as his words sank in.

"You…._love_ me ?"

"Yes." He eyed her nervously.

"But…..no man who loved me would have…"

"I did what I had to do, Sanna," he sighed, "and it hurts that you still believe I would hurt you."

"But you can't change her back," she said sadly.

"No," he said. "Sanna, if I could, I…"

"I need you to help me," she whispered, half- turning away from him, "_Please_, Páron. You're all I've got."

He licked his lips and cursed himself for a fool. It should all have been so simple – one kiss from her mother and the frog would have been restored to her true form. But Sanna couldn't bear frogs. He wondered what he was supposed to do now, and berated himself for not studying magic harder and building on the natural talent all Carnishmen were born with. He only had a haphazard control over his magic, and since he'd never needed it much before he'd never bothered to learn to control it.

"I don't know how to help you," he said, "but whatever you need, I'll provide. Just tell me."

She looked at him and knew he'd go to the moon for her; all she had to do was tell him she wanted the stars and he'd get them.

If only it was the stars she wanted.

She watched the light die in his eyes as he realised how hard it was going to be.

*******************************************************************

Páron wouldn't let Sanna rest, and nearly wore her into the ground with his insistence that she overcome her irrational disgust of frogs enough to kiss her daughter and turn her back. Eventually his perseverance paid off, with the help of a small quantity of a soporific herb, which he drugged her with, just enough to calm her down. For her part, she tried hard, and now watched him approach her, with the frog in his hand. She stood her ground, though every nerve in her body screamed at her to run as far from the little green creature as possible.

He knelt before her, and she held her breath, her eyes fixed firmly on his face.

"Sanna…."

She closed her eyes, breathing hard, and reached out her hand, shaking.

"You can do this," he encouraged her, his voice soothing and gentle. He took her hand, brushed her fingers with his lips, and placed the frog in it.

All at once, she let out a piercing shriek, and tried to fling her hand up with a violent jerk. Páron held tight, stroking her hand rapidly.

"It's alright," he whispered, "see, there's no harm, look into her eyes, it's your _child_, Sanna, come on, you can do it !" Sanna was oblivious to him, concentrating on not having hysterics. Páron raised her hand slowly to her face, and she squeezed her eyes shut, sweating hard.

"One kiss, Sanna, that's all it will take," he encouraged, "come on !"

"I….can't…" her voice was shaky with panic. Páron licked his lips and squeezed her hand. He drew a deep breath.

"You_ can_," he insisted, "come on. You're nearly there ! Just think of hearing your daughter's voice…."

Encouraged by his words, she puckered her lips and raised her shaking hands higher. Páron held his breath, willing her to do it, to not fall to pieces. His heart hammered in his chest and the tension between them was palpable.

"Sanna," he whispered, "come _on_ ! We've got this far, now just a little….."

She did it. Her lips barely touched the frog, watching patiently and placidly, but it was enough. Just as Sanna was about to let out a piercing shriek, the frog began to change, expanding and blurring before her eyes. Páron sat back on his haunches, relief flooding through every pore. He wanted to laugh, but couldn't find the energy, and settled for staring at Sanna and her baby, though neither noticed him.

"I can't believe …" he whispered. She looked at him, smiling, her eyes full of tears.

"I did it !" she said, "I did it, I have my baby back….Páron….thank you……"

***************************************************************************************************************

Oberon wasted no time once he heard the good news, and dragged his entire court into the throne room to test out the crown. The baby gurgled and grizzled, but Sanna held her firmly. Páron had told her that they believed her daughter to be the true heir of Derún, though she'd been sceptical about that. In her eyes, his explanation of the bloodline was erroneous, since it involved infidelity on the part of one of her not-so-distant ancestors, but she had no real reason to dispute his claim, and went along with it. She knew enough of these people to know that with them, anything was possible, if not all that likely.

Páron stood at her elbow and watched while Oberon lifted the crown and placed it on the baby's head.

The entire court held its breath.

Nothing happened.

Oberon let his breath out in a rush, and took the crown back, slamming it down on its cushion with rather more force than was necessary.

"I don't understand," he said, frowning, "perhaps we forgot something…."

"The prophecy is quite clear," said one of the scholars, "the crown will recognise the heir just by being placed on his – or her – head. There's nothing else to it."

"Humph. Well there must be. The prophecy is also quite clear that this child is the heir of Derún, the one to unite Isken and Carne, so _what's going on_ ?" Oberon's tone said that he wanted an explanation, and he wanted it now. The scholars squirmed. Oberon waited for what seemed like an eternity, then threw his hands up in the air with an oath.

"Fine !" he snapped, "get out, _all_ of you, and find out what's going on ! You can start by finding that witch Crella and asking her. No-one's infallible; she could have misinterpreted the signs."

"It's not very likely, sire," moaned one of the scholars, a tall man with silken white hair and permanent frown lines etched across his brow, "she's the best at what she does."

"Do I look as if I care ? _Find_ her ! And give me that scroll, I want to have another look."

He snatched it from the hands of the young scribe and unrolled it, scanning for the relevant passage. He read aloud to the court, though they all knew the contents of that scroll.

"……_and when the prince of the seas of grass calls for the daughter of Isken and takes her to wife, then shall come the one who was born to rule Derún. Then indeed shall come the one who will unite Carne and Isken, and end the war over Derún. Thus by Isken's daughter shall the heir be revealed………Mortua's treasure house shall be filled with golden stalks of grass when comes the man to whom Isken will bend the knee, and three times three shall he ask for payment, and by his deeds and the strength of his heart shall the crown of Derún sit upon the head of the true heir_." He glared round at the court. "It seems obvious to _me_," he growled, "But the crown….I don't understand. I have Isken laying siege to the Bridge even as we sit here; I still need an alliance to end the war, and there's only one other alternative," he paused, and looked at Páron and Sanna. "Sanna, would you object very much if I ordered you to marry my Captain ? I would offer myself, but I fear that will send your father's temper through the roof. Páron is of sufficient standing not to cause insult, but not so high that he constitutes a threat." And marrying Sanna himself would not sit too well with the Captian, he knew; Páron could likely lead his entire army away from Carne and become his enemy, if he so wished.

Páron held his breath. Sanna was sure to refuse, and loudly, and rudely. To his surprise, she was neither of those things. She dropped Oberon a dainty curtsey in a rustling of soft silken skirts, and made her reply.

"My Lord, I am flattered that you think I am worthy of becoming a lady of Carne," she said demurely, "but I doubt the Captain will have me."

"Why should he not ?" said Oberon, amused, "he'll do as I tell him, and anyway, I believe he has a soft spot for you."

She looked at Páron, who was slowly turning red. She pursed her lips, and decided to make him suffer.

"My Lord, I couldn't," she said lightly, "how could I be sure that I won't wake one morning and find my baby turned back into a frog if I displeased him ?"

"But you would not !" protested Páron, and flushed as her silver laugh rang out. His lips tightened into a grim line as he realised he'd just been played.

"So it's a yes from both of you ?" said Oberon, his lips twitching, "very well ! I'll issue the banns. Sanna, I wish to meet with your father, and I require you to write to him, and request a meeting in port in one month, under a white flag of course. Captain, a word, if you please. We don't want this turning sour."


	13. Chapter 13

"I need help," said Páron to the old woman who sat across her table from him, chewing silently on a piece of gall root and occasionally spitting the saliva into the grate. He found her disgusting, but took care not to let it show on his face. He'd come a long way for what she sold, and he wasn't going to let anything get in the way of his getting it. Sanna had been perfectly willing, on the surface, to marry him, but she would not allow him to court her, at least not the way he wanted. She was by turns hot and cold, sometimes spending whole afternoons in his company, walking in the rose gardens or the orchards, sometimes lying languidly on her couch while he read to her, or played the _cerambór_, a peculiar harp-like instrument with narrow strips of silver piping in place of strings, which were then struck with two small silver hammers. The resultant music, amplified through the hollow wooden base, was a rippling cascade of silver bells, and she loved it. And then sometimes, she wouldn't see him at all, or goaded him into a temper with her teasing and her jokes, making the ladies laugh, and all at his expense. He felt as if he were a small boat that she'd set adrift on high seas – buffeted to and fro by the wind, unable to take control. Once, she'd even allowed him to steal a kiss, but then slapped him when he took a second, and dismissed him from her presence for two whole days. He hadn't tried again.

The old woman was looking at him, chewing viciously, waiting for him to tell her what he'd come for.

"I.....need a love charm." The words made him feel like a boy, awkward and pathetic, and he reddened. "I can pay you well." He pushed a golden Leaf across the table to her.

She grabbed hold of his hand and turned it palm up, tracing the lines with one calloused finger.

"Well it's about time, I must say. But that's not all you need," she grinned. He snatched his hand back.

"The love charm for now; I doubt_ you_ can do anything about the other problem," he said sharply.

"Oh, maybe not, maybe not," she chuckled. "But it's amazing what I know." She rose and crossed to her dresser, black with age and dust, and pulled down a jar. She set it on the table in front of him and sat back down.

"I would have thought, Páron, that with all your natural charm, you would be able to manage without my help," she teased him. He pursed his lips, feeling his temper rise.

"I set out to find the heir; I didn't reckon on failing and then falling in love !"

"Well, you ought to be more careful," she snapped. He nodded.

"You're telling me," he growled, his eyes sparkling with humour, "this is the last time I fall in love !"

He picked up the jar and uncorked it; a pungent aroma rose and made him choke a little, his eyes watering. He re-corked it hurriedly, and set it back on the table with a grimace.

"Wild rose, ladylace, pig's pumpkins and a little sprinkling of dragontooth," she said, naming several plants whose qualities he was familiar with, and one he wasn't. "A pinch in her wine each evening will have her aching with desire for you; she will burn for you, she will.…"

"I believe you are confusing love with lust," he said disapprovingly, "that isn't what I want. I want her to _love_ me."

"Well, she will."

"Without trying to rip my clothes off every time she sees me ?"

"I can't believe you think that's a problem, and anyway, isn't that what you tried to do to her ?" the old woman shot back. Páron swore, thumping his fist on the table.

"Is there _nothing_ you don't know ?" he barked, "and no, I didn't try to do that ! It was a kiss, nothing more."

"Oh, do pardon me, but you were certainly _thinking_ about ripping her…"

"Enough !" he growled, "is this all you can offer ? You've nothing a little more……subtle ?"

"Take it or leave it." She eyed the Leaf greedily, her fingers inching towards it. He snatched it back.

"I'll leave it. I told you, it's not what I want."

"Fine," she grumbled, getting back up and going to the dresser again. "Although a little taste of lust really wouldn't hurt you, Páron." She perused the jars and bottles there, muttering blackly to herself, and finally plucked a different bottle from the back of one dusty shelf. It was of sapphire glass, covered in dust and grease, and tiny enough to sit in the palm of her hand. Páron frowned.

"This had better be good, Crella," he warned. She nodded, and gave it to him.

"It is the last of my meagre stock," she said, "so use wisely, and sparingly. It can't be ingested – it's poisonous – so you'll have to get her to sniff it."

"Easy," he said, "I barge in, wave it under her nose, and wait for her to fall in love ?"

"There was just a tad too much sarcasm in that, young man," she scolded him. He chuckled.

"Your help is appreciated, as always, Crella," he smiled, handing her back the golden Leaf. She held her hand out for another one.

He groaned. "Is it really all that valuable ?" he asked.

"It is to you," she cackled. He sighed and handed over the extra Leaf, grumbling about it as he did so.

"About the other problem," he said, "do you know something we don't ?"

"Oh, yes," she grinned.

"Well ?"

"Young man, the prophecy is, as your king insists, quite clear. All you have to do is read it. Now, get out, I've got more important things to worry about."

**************

In the end, he didn't use the expensive serum. Several times, he came close, but something always stayed his hand; he decided it was because he wanted her to love him without being enchanted to do so.

"_Cheating_," he muttered under his breath as he set the bottle back on the dresser.

"What's cheating ?" said a light, musical voice behind him. He turned to find Sanna hovering in his doorway. "What's that ?" she asked, creeping closer and peering round him to see what he was hiding. He stood square in front of the dresser, his arms folded.

"Nothing."

"If it was nothing, you wouldn't be hiding it," she teased, craning her neck round, "that little bottle ? Is that perfume ?"

"No !" He moved to snatch it up before she could, but she was too quick for him. He winced as she uncorked it, and sniffed it. A most peculiar expression came over her face as she did so; her soft lips parted and her black eyes became dreamy. A slow flush crept up her cheeks as she looked at him.

"It's so lovely," she murmured, "like lilies and lavender, and sea winds. Is it for me ?"

He rolled his eyes, his heart hammering in his chest. He wondered when the stress of dealing with her would kill him, and hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

"I …guess so, if you like it that much," he said helplessly, even as she slipped the little bottle into her cleavage and gave him a dimpled smile as thanks.

_Dammit, I want more than that_, he thought suddenly, and pulled her into his arms.

"A gift in return for a gift," he said, and kissed her. She melted against him, her body soft and pliant in his strong arms, and this time there was no slap, no teasing, just passion. His hunger for her grew, and his kisses became rougher, more demanding.

She pushed him away from her, breathless and flushed. She curtseyed to him, her eyes lowered.

"My….t-thanks for the perfume, Captain," she stammered, and fled. He slammed the door after her with an oath, and flung himself onto his bed, frustrated, his blood red-hot in his veins.

One more week, and the banns would be clear, and he could ride out again with Oberon to meet with Sanna's father….and then he could claim her.

One more week was far too long.


	14. Chapter 14

Sanna had been to Derún before, but now she really saw the country for the first time. Where Isken was desert and mountains, Derún was lush meadows and leafy woodlands, deep lakes and bubbling becks that sang and danced down from the gently rolling green hills. Despite the presence of soldiers, the land seemed tranquil and the people happy. A hawk called above the column of Carnishmen, and she looked up to where the bird swooped and hovered above them in the deep blue sky.

She grew a little nervous as they crested the hill and saw the white castle across the valley on the other side, where she would stay. The sea sparkled on the horizon, and pale Carnish flags flew from the battlements, but she knew she would not rest easy there, not while Páron rode on a little further with Oberon to meet with her father and sign the treaty. Páron glanced across at her from Oberon's right hand.

"Caer Carnedd," he said, "don't worry about the name, it's a pretty enough place with no ghouls !" He laughed lightly, then went back to frowning, as worried as she was about the meeting.

"The Castle of the Cairn," she murmured to herself, and shivered. She hoped it wasn't a bad omen.

**********************************************************************************************************************************

"I sign this under great duress," said the King of Isken, his quill poised above the treaty that a young Carnishman held out to him. "My daughter is a great prize; I would not wish any harm to come to her."

"No harm will, if you abide by the terms of the treaty and allow the marriage between your daughter and my Captain to seal our agreement," said Oberon, with a wintry smile. His signature already graced the elaborately-decorated scroll, witnessed only moments ago by half his court and what looked like half of Isken's court too. He eyed the two hundred soldiers that Isken had brought with him, uneasy about their presence, but saying nothing because of the force of archers he himself had brought with him.

Isken signed, his mouth set into a firm, grim line of displeasure and his pen scoring deep lines in the parchment.

"I would like your assurance, Oberon, that Sanna will be allowed to visit me from time to time."

"She will, and I'll provide her with a Carnish escort for her visits," said Oberon, determined to do no such thing. She'd never come back if he allowed her into Isken. He glanced at Páron, who should have been overjoyed at Isken's consent to the marriage, but who was instead frowning at the Isken king with undisguised hatred.

"Captain ?"

"_What _?" Páron snapped.

"Is there a problem ?"

"No," said Páron stiffly. He glared at Isken, and Oberon whirled on him.

"If you cannot contain your emotions, then get out of sight !" he hissed, "I know your problem with Isken, but this treaty _must_ stand !"

Páron swallowed, hurt. He bowed, and stalked to the back of the column of Carnish archers, his eyes blazing. Isken looked amused.

"You must forgive your Captain," he chuckled, "the last time he encountered me, I nearly hanged him ! It was only my dear daughter who saved his life. I hope she approves of this marriage ?"

"She does," said Oberon, "though she's running rings round my poor Captain. I don't think he's slept since he met her." The two men shared a brief moment of humour before the old hostilities returned and they bristled at each other again, like two cats on a fence.

"Still, he'll be a rich man now," mused Isken, "I would watch your own back in case he decides to take the throne from you."

"I beg your pardon ?"

"Surely you know about my daughter's…er…..shall we say…_talent_ ?" chuckled Isken. Oberon's eyes widened in sudden realisation, and he struggled to keep the smile off his face.

"Ah, yes, the gold," he said, "I had forgotten. No doubt what you say is true – my thanks for the warning. Though straw is in short supply in Carne – we don't do a great deal of hay making in the mountains and forests."

"Hmmmm……perhaps we should talk about Mortua ?" Isken said, "Nothing _but _grasslands there…"

"Tempting, but I fear I have enough on my plate," said Oberon politely. Invading Mortua would take his attention from Isken, leaving them room to attack and occupy Derún. _Do I _look_ stupid_, he thought sourly, and turned to his squire with Carne's copy of the treaty.

"I believe that just about settles things here," he said to Isken, "I would be honoured if you would join me for a goblet of wine in my pavilion before we part ways. I am sure that we have much to discuss regarding Derún – although a Carnish land, I would welcome your wisdom and input."

Isken looked startled at that, and Oberon once again stifled a chuckle. _He didn't expect that,_ he thought, though the feeling of triumph was wiped from his heart when Isken refused.

"I am honoured indeed," he said, "but I will decline, if it will not offend you, for I believe you more than capable of managing such a difficult land as Derún. Fare you well on your journey home, Oberon."

_And let's see you come crawling to me for all the help I can give you,_ he thought to himself as he turned and gave the orders to mount and move out. _You can return my daughter to me, and Derún as well, false, changeling king !_

*********************************************************************

The wedding took place in Caer Carnedd. To Carne's surprise, Mortua had been perfectly placid, never once interfering in the almost constant to-ing and fro-ing from port to port as wedding parties as military forces from both Carne and Isken travelled about, and Oberon put it down to the squabbling between Teku's various sons about who would rule in his place. He figured that it would only be a matter of time before the dispute was settled and they resumed their railing at him over the lost gold-spinner, but he decided to cross that bridge when he came to it – he had enough to deal with for now.

He sighed and turned his attention to his Captain, who was standing nervously at his side waiting for Sanna to appear.

"Hold up there, Captain," he smiled, "you look as if you're going to your execution instead of your wedding !"

"I think my execution would be easier," grumbled Páron. "I've never been told what to expect from my wedding. And don't forget that I was seconds from my execution when I met her !"

"I'm sorry; I should have provided you with tuition in things other than war," said Oberon, "I know my sister did her best, but perhaps your own mother…."

"You don't have to remind me," said Páron crossly, "I am well aware of what really happened to her. And I don't begrudge her happiness - I just wish she were here now." He smoothed down his tunic for the third time in as many minutes, and stared nervously at the door again.

"I remember my wedding day," grinned Oberon, "I _especially_ remember my wedding night."

Páron turned scarlet, and Oberon chuckled.

"When were _you_ ever married ?" muttered Páron, his eyes on the doors through which his bride would enter. Still no sign of her. He shifted uneasily, wondering if she'd fled across the border into Isken after all.

Oberon didn't look worried. "About two hundred or so years before you were born, and I was still only a prince," he said, "I married a fine noble lady from The Isle of Moi. She was a selkie; she got caught by a fisherman one day, and that was that." His eyes darkened for a moment, then brightened again as the doors opened and Sanna entered.

"Am I to suffer the same," said Páron, "when I outlive _her _?" his eyes locked onto Sanna's, and his heart almost failed him as he saw how beautiful she was. She had chosen a simple gown of lavender silk, and a veil of Isken lace. As was traditional in Isken, she went to her wedding unadorned by jewels, and her simple beauty brought a lump to Páron's throat. She would wear no jewels until the next morning, when he would give them to her as a token payment for her virginity, though in this case it was merely symbolic. _Probably in most other cases as well_, he thought, suddenly amused by the tradition. She certainly looked as pure a woman as he'd ever seen as she gave him a demure curtsey, a faint blush deepening the pink in her cheeks.

"My love," he whispered as he bowed to her, and took her hand for the joining. Oberon, as his liege, tied the first knot of silk round their clasped hands, then Sanna's mother, a dainty woman with downcast eyes, tied the second, and then her father tied the third, his mouth grim and hard and his eyes cold.

"This day sees the joining of two great hearts," began Oberon, his voice ringing out clear throughout the hall, "and as the father of this man's country's laws, I hereby declare my intent to honour their choice of one another and to make no impediment to their happiness, and furthermore, I welcome this woman as a beloved daughter of Carne from this day forward." He stood back, smiling at them both, and Sanna's mother stepped forward with a kiss for each of them.

"My hands have raised this woman from a baby to a girl, and now I give her to you so that she may continue her journey as a woman, to raise sons and daughters in her turn," she said in a near-whisper, her eyes flicking nervously to her husband, who scowled.

Sanna blushed, suddenly wishing that her mother's words hadn't conjured up the image they had. Páron's hand tightened around hers, his thumb stroking gently across her fingers, though he was no less nervous. He forced himself to raise his eyes as Sanna's father stepped up and repeated the words Oberon had spoken, giving his blessing and pledging to uphold his end of the bargain. Oberon raised his hand, three notes on a gong were struck, and the ceremony was over. The hall filled with cheers and laughter for the red-faced couple, the musicians struck up a lively tune, and the celebrations began in earnest.

**A/N: For Braveheart fans - Sorry about ****Moi****Island**** – couldn't resist ! **


	15. Chapter 15

Sanna woke before Páron, with a delicious soreness between her legs. This time, she didn't hate the man who had caused that soreness. She looked down at him, still asleep, with the dawn slowly turning his skin to a pearly sheen. She smiled, and tucked a lock of his red hair behind his ear, then bent and lovingly kissed the pointed tip. He stirred, and woke, his green eyes locking onto hers as she smiled down at him.

"Good morning, Captain," she whispered. He pulled her down into his arms and greeted her with a kiss, which turned into several more, and then somehow it was much later when they finally rose from bed.

"What took you so long ?" demanded Oberon when they entered his study. He was agitated, pacing the room, and clearly had expected to see them both earlier. Páron and Sanna exchanged a look, puzzled.

"I am afraid it is my fault," said the young man who had acted as Sanna's squire on the journey into Carne, "I, er…" he turned red.

"Spit it out, man !" said Oberon.

"Um….well, I did knock, but….."

"We were busy," said Páron smoothly. Oberon raised an eyebrow, then smirked as he realised what his Captain had spent the morning doing.

"I'm glad you were enjoying yourselves," he said drily, "but I have had urgent news from Isken. Your father, Sanna, has decided that treaties are evidently not worth the paper they are written on, and is marching a force of several thousand across the border. Apparently that was his plan all along, since there's no other way he could have mobilised an army at such short notice otherwise. I am afraid this leaves me with no choice but to declare you under house arrest as a hostage. Please be assured that I wish you no harm whatsoever, and that I will make sure you come to none, though my message to him is to the contrary."

Sanna chewed at her bottom lip. "Do you think my father will care ?"

"I have no idea, Sanna. He may decide that we can go ahead and fulfil our threats to kill you if he doesn't leave Derún, and then that of course will give him an excuse to raise Carne to the ground – and make no mistake, I don't have the means to stop him. On the other hand, he might very well care about you, and I have no other hand to play. I have to at least try." He frowned at Sanna's daughter, who was sitting on her nurse's hip with the crown in her hand.

"That's not a plaything," he said. Páron took the child with a chuckle, earning a frown of his own from Oberon. He yelped as the little girl suddenly squawked with delight as she placed the crown lopsidedly on Páron's head.

"_Pwun_," she said happily.

Several things happened then; Sanna started gasping and laughing in delight at her daughter's first word, Oberon started issuing orders for the court's scribes and lawyers and historians to come immediately, and Páron stood, transfixed, as the ancient words on the crown came to life, glowing with a blue light as it recognised the true heir.

He took it off.

"It's a mistake," he said, distressed, "it's not me."

"The crown doesn't lie," said Oberon, "though how…"

"No, no, not _me_ !" insisted Páron, "I don't want this !"

"That's as may be," said Oberon sternly, "but you've got it. Come along, Captain – you too, Sanna, let's get this all official and set in stone before the good Captain decides to throw himself off the Bridge of Carne and ruin our chances of peace forever !" He opened the door and ushered them out of the study and along the halls to the throne room, which was already a-buzz with the various officials Oberon had summoned to be witness.

"This makes you a Queen," hissed Páron to Sanna as they took their places near the throne. She smiled.

"Do you see _me_ panicking ?" she said sweetly, "I was born royalty. You'll be fine with me helping you along – and don't think you can run away, Mortua's the only place you can go and they'll either send you back, or throw you in prison."

He stared at her wildly. "I thought you loved me !"

She smiled beatifically. "I do."

Oberon cleared his throat, raising a stern eyebrow at them, and beckoned Páron forwards. Páron knelt, reluctantly, but knowing he had no choice in this. He glanced back at Sanna, but saw no sympathy in her eyes at all, just pride and happiness. He resolved to give her what she deserved once they were alone again, and turned his attention back to his king, who was standing over him with the crown poised ready to prove the true heir of Derún. He felt the coolness of the crown's metal as it settled on his brow, and then he heard the sudden hush in the court as the ancient Carnish words flamed to life: _I am sky and valley, woodland and water, the heart and soul of this country. I am fire and frost, the heart of this country. I am ruler, warrior, lover and servant; I am the heart of this country._

Páron felt the tears spring to his eyes as the words etched themselves on his brain, the words he would speak at his coronation, in two weeks at the full moon. He felt Oberon's firm hand on his shoulder, urging him to rise, and he stumbled to his feet as shakily as a newborn deer, unsure of how to face the company before him in the hall, who were staring at him in awe and disbelief.

"The King of Derún," announced Oberon, and the hall erupted with cheers.

*******************************************************************************************************************

Isken was forced to withdraw from Derún once the legitimacy of Páron's claim to the throne was proved and backed up with an alliance with Mortua. Sanna in particular wanted to know how he'd achieved that, and threw up her hands in horror when he told her.

"I am quite willing to do it," he laughed, catching her in his arms and kissing her. Three months pregnant with his child, she was a fine sight, radiant and glowing. "It was the first thing I did for you that did you any good."

"But, my love, _spinning_ ?" she protested. "_Slaves_ spin ! Not kings !"

"And I will always be a slave in one respect," he said softly, his lips against her ear. She shivered in delight as his hands moved down her back and over her buttocks, stroking gently. He nipped at her neck with his teeth and she hissed in sudden pleasure.

"Not now !" she giggled, but he wasn't to be put off so easily, and wrapped her up in his arms, kissing her thoroughly.

A cough from the doorway interrupted them, and Páron reluctantly put his wife down and turned to receive the visitor.

"My Lord," he said, bowing as Oberon entered the room.

"Captain," Oberon smiled, "or should I say, your Majesty of Derún ?"

"I'd rather you didn't," Páron winced, "it's a bit formal. I prefer my old title, if you must use one at all. Though I still want this one explained. Wine ?"

"Please. But this isn't a social call. I believe it is time that Carne had another bridge – one into Derún, now that there is no threat from Isken. And that way I don't have to spend several days at sea whenever I wish to visit you."

Páron sighed. "I can see where this is going," he groaned. "you have the stone and labour, I have the gold, am I right ?"

"Am I that obvious ?"

"I'm afraid so."

Oberon chuckled. "The sooner we get started on it, the better. Given your…ahem…apparent pedigree, I doubt it will be long before Isken decides to try it on again."

Páron nodded, then sat. "My pedigree is what's puzzling me," he said, looking up at Oberon, who had not taken a seat despite being offered, and was pacing restlessly, evidently eager to be getting on with things, "my mother was a courtesan, my father one of your minor lords. How does this make me royal blood ?"

"A question that puzzled me also, so I had the scribes go through the records again. Your birth isn't noted unfortunately, but I can remember it, and your father's line goes back a long way. Back to Derún, in fact. It appears that after the first major war between Carne and Isken, Derún sided with us, and suffered greatly for it. The royal family were all but wiped out, though one of the king's sons survived and fled for his life across into Carne. He was a weak man, and our own king claimed Derún for himself for a time, until it fell into Isken's hands. The dispossessed prince married, settled in Carne, content with his lot apparently."

"Can't say I blame him," quipped Páron. Oberon shrugged.

"Not everyone is born for ruling," he said, "though I have every faith in you, having been raised at my court."

"I'm still the son of a whore," said Páron, with a trace of bitterness in his voice. Oberon regarded his young Captain with a mixture of amusement and affection. Páron had been well aware of his illegitimacy since he'd been old enough to understand, and as a result had always pushed himself to be better than most of the other noble-born boys at the court, despite their attempts to drag him down.

"You're the son of a _king_," corrected Oberon, "And at this point I think that no-one in this court or the entirety of Derún will care about the particulars of your birth. Speaking of which, how long until the happy day ?"

"What ?"

"Your baby," Oberon laughed. Sanna blushed, wondering how he knew. He kissed her lightly on each cheek. "Congratulations," he smiled, "Páron, try not to turn this one into a frog, if you please."

Páron scowled, wondering if he was ever going to be allowed to forget that one. Sanna, however, was unfazed, and dimpled prettily at Oberon.

"Oh, I'm sure that if he does, there's room for him back in your court," she said sweetly, "although I'm sure he could put his talents to better use and turn all our enemies into frogs ! I'm sure that would make my father realise that he really shouldn't try and break the treaty this time…"

"No doubt; however, I've learned my lesson, wench," growled Páron. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he wrapped one arm round her waist as he poured wine into three goblets. He handed one to Oberon, then one to Sanna, and lifted his own.

"To peace in our time," he said, and drank, watching happily as the two people he loved most in the world followed suit.

**O ...............THE END………..O**

**A/N: Woohoo !! I finished at last ! Hope you all enjoyed it, many, many thanks to my reviewers, you kept me going.....**** I hope you all got that Sanna's child was indeed the child they wanted, to unite Isken and Carne – just not in the way they expected. She certainly revealed the heir……**


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